The Falcon
by Legend's Mist
Summary: Drizzt rescues a lost falcon. But things aren't what they seem . . . New, Chapter 3!
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer - Nope, don't own any characters from the Forgotten Realms_**

**_A/N - Reincarnation n._**- **_The belief that once the soul leaves the body, it will return once more as another creature. Once part of religion, now a popular belief among society. It is said that most people forget the past life before they pass the age of nine._**

* * *

The harsh arctic winds buffeted in an endless fight, uncaring of the strange bird that had been captured within. Blasting torments circled around the bird, a lone falcon. It screeched as the winds toppled the bird off course, its wing bumping the side of a mountain. Powerful wings carried it to higher altitudes, but the aches of long use without rest had weakened the bird, and he was no match for the mountain winds.

Mercy.

The tiny falcon chirped incessantly, shivering from the cold of the morning. Stumps of wings, yet to grow feathers, flapped in an attempt to return to the nest it had fallen from. It knew naught of the predators that circled above. Near the fledgling, the body of another falcon, a female, lay, her eyes empty in death. Blood bled slowly from a mortal wound, trickling to mix with dew of the sunrise.

The fledgling closed its eyes, hoping that in sleep, no more of the disturbing events would come, and stopped its attempts to fly. In exhaustion, it didn't hear the warning cry of a returning falcon, piercing the air with shock and pain as the bird saw his mate on the ground, and his young helpless. The fledgling felt nothing but darkness, but was abruptly awakened as gentle fingers curled around its body, preventing movement of his wings. A rush of air, like what he would imagine of soaring and the tiny falcon looked up to see the dark eyes of a human in worry.

Mercy.

The young falcon, now near the stage of adulthood, watched in curiosity as multiple pigeons cooed of the approach of another. Many fidgeted in nervousness of a hunter near them, but the box that was their home let no door for escape. Suddenly, the entrance opened, and the human smiled as the birds thrust into the sky.

"Look, that's what you need to do," the human spoke to the falcon, "Fly!"

But the flock thought otherwise. The birds suddenly returned and dived, attacking the inferior, territorially driven to protect their home. Though they were not built as a predator, the domesticated flock forced the falcon to flee. Screeching, the falcon found itself unable to defend, as pain surrounded it on all sides. In frenzy, instinct kicked in, and speckled wings rose finally to meet the breeze.

Mercy.

The winds had only been the scouts of a larger being. A dark storm, black like an army, marched in, and released iced stone upon the frozen land. Hail hit with enough force the bruise the bird, and left numbness that soaked straight into the skin, as if the feathers were nothing at all. Another screech left the falcon, this time one knowing that death awaited, that it was no match for the elements.

Even the burning of its muscles, demanding rest from the flight, held no warmth. Ice was everywhere, ice and frozen rock. And a coldness of eternal winter. Coldness of death. It was bittersweet, the coldness, but the falcon gave in. With a muffled thump, the bird hit the snow, shivering powerlessly to prevent the merciless attack of the storm. Darkness replaced the white of the land, and for a time, it was all there was.

And slender fingers wrapped around the bird's body, and the falcon was the fledgling once more. It relaxed in the hold, but glanced up in curiosity. Lavender eyes returned the look, set into a face of darkness, like that the bird had came from. The blanket of fatigue fell over the small figure, and tender sleep came for the weary creature.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"It is a boy." Colson declared in importance.

Near her, Cattie-brie grinned in amusement. "Ya know this, _how_?

"Because," The girl said simply. She bent down to stroke the rescued falcon, now in a crude box stuffed with straw, rescues, as well, from the eager flames of Wulgar's furnace.

"Careful," Drizzt whispered as he passed by, shedding his winter cloak and hanging up his scimitars.

Bruenor followed, glaring at the creature. "Bah! It is an animal, and that is all it will ever be."

The drow, finishing his task, bent down to study the bird. "It is a male," he confirmed. Colson puffed in pride. "A falcon, at that."

Cattie-brie looked at the creature in interest. "I've never seen this type of bird around here before."

"The animal was lost," the ranger explained. "Possibly from the hailstorm."

"So we can keep him?" Colson piped up.

"For the night. We'll leave him here, and see if he makes it to the morning."

"Yay!"

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

That night, the falcon woke, chirping like a fledgling. Coming back to reality, the bird realized he was venerable. Instinct demanded him to escape, but he was exhausted. Though panic gave him power, it was only enough to keep him alert. He closed his eyes, and remembrance came.

The violet eyes of the human-like creature nagged at him, as if he had seen them before. Slowly, the memories came, broken and blurred like pieces of a hidden puzzle. It came with a tide, floating upon deep waters. He, the one desperately trying to gather as many as possible before the waters sank beyond his reach. Like a dragon, he browsed through his treasure, waiting until the next tide was summoned, holding more memories, more treasures.

The waters brought in a life before, of life as drow. He had been Zaknafein, weapon master. The memories brought back horrors he would never have wanted to see again, of Lloth and the spiders he would have traded nearly anything to forget. Of the blood on his hands, the blood on his blades. One memory stood high against the rest. Of him, as a spirit-wraith, battling his son. Lavender eyes clouded with confusion.

And the falcon echoed the expression. Part of him denied it. He was a bird, of soring heights, of the sky. The falcon searched desperately through his memories as a bird, trying to convince himself the other life was nothing.

He tried to deny it, but it was there, and he knew it was true. The falcon clacked his beak together softly in the darkness in joy. _Drizzt, my son, you have escaped!_ But realization dawned. Though he was drow, he is now bird. _Could Drizzt seen beyond his physical appearance?_ _No_, the falcon chirped, _he would not. How could he?_


	2. Chapter 2

He watched as she begged, silently, on her knees. With tears in her eyes, sobbing, hoping to prevent death by blade. A pitiful creature, one that, in the drow world, did that deserve to live, did that deserve the chance of Lloth's favor. She knew no pride, but that was an advantage. A strange technique, for sure, though one that saved her a number of times, no doubt.

With her standard, and background, obviously, she would have been taught how to protect herself from swords. Either she didn't bother, or she knew it was useless in the position she was in. Either way, she was in a precarious position, left at the mercy of one drow's judgment.

Outside, Do'Urden warriors laughed, half drunk with the blood they had spilled. The attack had been a perfect success – the other house, caught in the net of surprise, were as helpless the fish on the land. The fishermen delivered the butchering of the powerless with no more than a chuckle. The once grand hallway was a crimson smeared cage, and the palace, built centered on an invincible defense, kept all in just as well as keeping drow out. Terror and mirth mixed in strange harmony, and fear lent its hand to create chaos.

However, it had not yet reached the small hidden room, where she lay at his feet, the flesh of her throat painfully obvious. Zak's hard eyes stared back at her, giving away no emotion. His blade hung at his side, useless. The weapon master revealed nothing of the turmoil he was inside – it was either he was going to play into her hands, or that she could just been another, like him, desperately hiding in against the cruel eyes of Lloth. A battle like the on outside played on inside him, mercy winning, but there was another factor, nagging at him in the shadows. There was a way to find out once and for all, it called to him.

There was always a way.

Ignoring the drow, he turned from her, baiting her with a sudden weakness. Though his reflexes had been honed by several hundred years, there was always the chance where it would fail to defend. Without being able to see her, he, too, was venerable. Unconsciously, his eyes scanned the carvings on the decorated wall, revealing with sickening pride the accomplishments of a drow hero, a priestess, as if carving her would bring luck to the house. His ears caught a sound, and he knew she had been too despaired, too hungry, to resist the bait.

Abruptly, his blade swung in an arc as a sharp crack sounded the air, slicing through cold flesh of serpents. Several heads fell with a soft thud to the floor, but the others, followed through, their fangs biting deep into his arm. He growled, but before numbness could affect him, Zak thrust his blade again. An elfin head rolled, her long white hair like silver threads of Lloth.

Perhaps if she hadn't taken that chance, if she hadn't tried to see if she could trade a life for her own . . .

Sadly, Zak bent down to close the drow's eyes, the red tint giving her, as with all drow, a dark, tainted look. He sheathed his blade, not bothering to clean it of the warm blood, dripping to a growing pool from her body. Frozen numbness crawled up his arm like a spider, its thread a chain, a leash made for Lloth. The room muffled sounds of screams outside, but could not prevent them from reaching their failing fingers through the cracks. The weapon master gritted his teeth. They were looking for the hidden, the survivors that had not been killed in the heat of the fight. Anytime now, they would discover this place, and there would be no more time for thought.

Bending down in the pool of crimson, he whispered in the drow's ears, "Unlike your family you had abandoned, you were given a painless death." He couldn't care less about the spiders listening; they could do nothing with such little information. A young warrior's voice squeezed in, excitement of the battle still rushing through his veins. But the doors didn't open, as Zak expected it to. Instead, the room misted, with black fog, until his surroundings were nothing but night. Everything was covered, until he thought he was blind, but on thing was left untouched. The corpse head, her face still glowing in silver threads. The weapon master stood in bewilderment, rushing through his knowledge of magic in of finding a reason for the strange mist.

A laugh interrupts his thoughts, and he found the drow's head, smiling to herself, still detached from her body. With that, he drew his blade, preparing for the worst. Surprisingly, the numbness from the snakes was gone, and he could take his blade with ease. As if Zak had offended her, the dark elf burst into tears.

She wailed, screaming, "Why? Was mercy too much?" Zak took a step back, and she took that as a success. Crackling, she snarled, "Mercy!" Her screech was cut off as his blade sang, batting the head away. Hitting the floor, it left a bloody trail as it continued to roll, mirth still stamped on her face.

Zak blinked as the mist dissolved as suddenly as it appeared. A familiar forest replaced the drow sculptures, but the woods were silent, the birds watching as the hunter among them singled out his prey. A rare breezed dipped down, and Zak shook his head, discovering he was falcon once more. Spreading his wings, he lifted himself from the forest earth, seeking a creature for food. A dive caught him a mouse, in the same place where the drow's head was, Zak realized. The creature screamed, clawing, biting in desperation to escape.

His two natures, the drow and falcon fought each other. No more bloodshed was needed! The drow wanted to tell the world, but the falcon coolly bit back. To survive, to eat, they had to kill. To keep peace in the world, to guard the lesser creatures from destroying themselves, they had to kill. With that, the prey was slammed into a tree, killed, and eaten. The falcon won.

Zak stared in horror at the blood dripping from the bark of the tree. Tiny rivers flowed downwards, staining it forever. His blade appeared at his feet, coloured with dried blood of the drow, as new, tiny beads of blood from the mouse dripped from the rivers on to the blade. In denial, in anger, in horror, Zak screamed, but one word refused to be buried.

"Mercy"


	3. Chapter 3

He woke in a flurry of feathers in the darkness, desperately trying the escape. Fear pounded through his body, the bird's wings flapping franticly, seeking flight. The hunter took to the air, diving from his wooden prison to tumble to the cold floor. He sat there, shivering, though the cold could not penetrate his cloak of feathers. For it was not the chill of winter, but the lingering effects of the dream before. _Dreams._ The rescued bird nearly laughed, a note of hysterics in it threatening to burst. _It had been nothing but a dream. No,_ Zak shook his head, more to drive away the memory, the unwanted thing standing as clear as day, _not a dream – a nightmare_.

The night rolled on, its wings of darkness flying, changing in an internal dance. He thought he saw a glitter of light, reflecting from an unseen mirror, but there was nothing, the night's hand covering too much for him to see. In the endless shadows, the bird lay, lost back into the dream he had somehow escaped. A single, lone creature, in the maze of fog, of unravelling secrets. Emotions from the strange vision returned, laying its cold knife on the falcon's neck. A memory, newly discovered, yet blurred by time, drifted into his head, the memory of a drow raid, and the mercy he could not give.

And then the nightmare was all too real.

The dream came back at full force, the drow maiden from the nightmare, flying in circles like a vulture over its prey, waiting for the feast of death. The dream was no dream, no average nightmare. They had been past visions, the memories thought left behind in the other life, manifesting, growing in his head. Even in sleep, he had been browsing through his new found treasures, but most had brought their age old curses as well. The riches, if he could call them that, had brought even more burdens upon his shoulders, and Zak felt himself crumbling.

The worse thing was, memories had been real.

A deep growl brought Zak from the trance-like reflection he had fell into, and the bird fluttered into the air, knowing the ground an exposed, unnatural area to be. Two gleaming disks glared back at him, and the falcon took flight, not recognizing the creature before him. He felt better airborne, safer, and as the bird studied the creature, it growled again, the low, curious roar of a feline. Sleek muscles reflected in the dim light, giving away the fine char-coloured fur that blended so well, the shades of shadows mingling.

Another memory grew from the sight, a creature of the night in swirling mist, and beside it, a small onyx statue. Drow fingers as dark as the beautifully carved figurine it clutched, motioning, and a soft command was heard from the creature's master. Gwenhywvar, with the wisdom of one from another plane, blood dripping from her maw as she served the dark purposes of her elven masters, whipped past the weapon master, her eyes silently begging. The soul that did not belong, Zak had named her then, the soul chained to a tortured world, so much like himself, and Drizzt.

Relief flowed as Zak realized the soul had finally escaped, and now, perhaps, in the hands of one truly deserving. Two creatures that did not belong had escaped, for the bird suspected the onyx statue was still in drow hands. But guilt followed, for he could recall so many times that the weapon master could have saved the panther from that cruel existence, that he could have just taken the figurine for himself, or smashed it on the cave rocks so that she could have been laid to rest. He had been weak, though, knowing that he was no saviour, thinking that perhaps another would step in, someone more deserving than he. One did, but not after Gwenhywvar had suffered for many long years.

The panther stood studying the bird in turn, but no recollection sparkled. The bird was a bird, and that was all. Zak blinked as the deadly hunter turned house cat began to stalk away to spend her night elsewhere. "Gwenhywvar!" the bird suddenly shrieked, grasping quickly at the chance that might be lost forever, "Wait!" The feline returned, suddenly interested in the abrupt actions of the bird, but spoke nothing. Zak, dipping in his knowledge of falcons, turned to the simple language known by all beasts of the earth. "Drow," the falcon tried, "Your master?" Gwen said nothing, and, as if she had heard none of importance, yawned. "Drizzt Do'Urden!" Zak cried desperately, but there was no reaction. As one of magic, the panther was true to her nature, and knew nothing of the tongue of animals. Gwenhywvar turned to exit, weaving a lazy circle around the falcon, and Zak felt his hopes of returning as the drow weapon master dashed.

In frustration, the falcon snatched out, meaning to bite the air in anger, but snatching a patch of fur instead. The feline snarled, snapping with claws extended. A paw swung past inches before him, but flight gave him a large advantage, and height was the bird's shield. So he took it, retreating into the protection of wings. Another near miss as the cat pounced, striking with deadly accuracy. As pain sparked a rushing wildfire, Zak lost control as the falcon's nature buried him and all reasoning, and the bird attacked back in fury.

The bird used the frenzy of his wings to confuse his opponent, and, after ripping from the hooked claws, arched into a dive. A victory cry echoed the walls of Mitheral Hall, as the bird shredded an ear, the bloody tatters hanging like ribbons, but it didn't last long. The bird watched in horror as the panther snapped at him, her jaw revealing sharp fangs, but received nothing but a mouthful of feathers as he took to the safety above. The black leopard leaped after him, seeking to pull him down, but the dwarven tunnels were wide and, fortunately, high, and the cat's attempts trapped nothing. In a few moments, it was over, the panther sinking away into the darkness with a growl of warning. As Zak harshly drove away the instinct that had forced him to fight, the bird sighed sadly.

That night, he made his first enemy.


End file.
